You Stole My Village Bicycle
by Aelibia
Summary: A series of unconnected Sakura-centric drabbles and oneshots, some with pairings and some not. An experiment in boundaries and style. Now with properly-spelled titles.
1. Purists: Hidan

**A/N:** I'm back. For those of you who hung around because you still had hope in me to write again…thanks. You're insane, but thanks. I hope to see all my favorites again! You know who you are. Want to know where I've been? IB. Go to the poll on my profile so I can seek out you other stricken beings!

Internet praise for anyone who can tell me where my inspirations came from. One is over quite quickly, while the other one comes up throughout. And one is so dang obscure that you will not find it.

This is unbeta'd! I didn't want to bother Fallacy this late. So it's a present for her, which I'm sure she didn't expect if she's at all acquainted with my relative normalcy. Some improvising for you, dear!

* * *

**Purists**

Sakura and Hidan

* * *

She doesn't know why she tolerates him, honestly. When they go out to eat, it's never still and romantic. There are no clutched hands and whispered words, smirks across the table for one and one only. Only a hurried efficiency because he knows this is the only way to get her out of her clothes later. He pretends they are a normal couple on a date, and she pretends later that they are in love when he takes her selfishly against the bedroom door, leaving her unsatisfied and listless, again.

It's tedious, this game they act out. It began as a joke, an experiment, a mutual test of boundaries and lust, a taste of the forbidden, for the cliché. They couldn't help themselves; they were made irrevocably mad. Now it's old hat, but the tension is there still. Feeding on them both like parasites, choking them with wind-blown hair! But here there are no teacups in kitchens, no, no time for even a false normalcy. They're both waiting for the other to give way, to step back and say 'You know, this is crazy, but…what do we do?'

What, indeed? What are the lines, where is the exit? She feels like an amateur actress who remembers her part on the tip of her tongue, but when she opens her mouth, an encompassing silence stretches out, farther and further than she could ever reach with her mind alone. She has seen this play a million times, worn it like a skin for even longer, and yet each time she approaches the stage her legs give way and she falls into the arms of a much more accomplished actor, who knows the dance even less than she but improvises like the truest of thespians.

How many times has she spun a coin, telling herself that if it lands on tails she will end it? The cool, unforgiving metal betrays her every time. Heads, heads, heads, heads, heads. One right after the other.

Sometimes she shuts her windows at night and spins the coin so many times that all's left is a silver blur flashing up and down, flaunting the laws of natural probability to her tear-saturated eyes. It should not surprise her; there is an equal chance of it going both ways, and yet the tension kills her. She doesn't know what to say, what to do. And yet—!

She has now spun the coin eight hundred ninety-two times.

Her _friends_ know their lines. Their stories have been written out and carefully memorized, muttered in a monotone while staring at the heavy stage curtain inches in front of their noses. Where are her scripts? She has misplaced them. He took them all away when she caught the first glint of silver hair and that dreadful, knowing smirk. He made her forget her entire future for his own pleasure, and she can never forgive him that.

Where will she go now? She _has_ nowhere to go, nowhere to be, without him. He is a part of her act now, and she has no other choice but to watch him for her cue. She is back to the beginning, when she wrung her hands fearfully without a clue of what to do next, waiting for someone with blessed experience to fly out of the wings and save her. But he's not Ino, coming to rescue her social dignity with ribbons and sass, he's something much more dangerous. Unpredictable.

Eight hundred ninety-three. Heads.

* * *

**A/N:** So? How's that for a return?


	2. Hijab: Shikamaru

**A/N:** Thank you, satoshii and Cat Alex, for catching my idiotic spelling error! I'm never going to live that one down. This one is for you two. Even if you don't like the pairing.

And now for something completely different!

* * *

**Hijab**

Sakura and Shikamaru

* * *

"No, no, no, no, _n__o!"_

It wouldn't come out. It would _not_ come out.

"Not today!"

It wouldn't have been so bad if, maybe, it was yesterday. Sure, Kotetsu and Izumo would've given her hell about it, but—

"—Who cares what they think anyway, right? Right?" She mumbled into the bathroom sink, damp hair curtained around her face while she scrubbed mercilessly at her scalp. "Doesn't matter. Not. One. Bit."

She could feel her skin turning raw. The tips of her fingers were all but numb. After several more agonizing minutes, the carefully manicured hands began to slow before they finally fell to the porcelain edges, holding back her trembling arms. Tendrils of bright hair arced from her fingernails where the still-damp follicles clung to the tender skin underneath her nails. If she didn't cut this out, she'd be half-bald before soon. Sakura clenched the sink and heaved a sigh. Was any of this fair? No. But did she deserve it?

"Yes," she growled at herself, face snapping upwards to meet with identical green eyes in the mirror. "I _do_ deserve this. And I thought I learned my lesson with vanity long ago."

She viciously grabbed a handful of bright green hair before releasing the strands with a disgusted flourish, leaving the entire ensemble to hang lank and limp in front of her face.

* * *

_Three Hours Earlier_

"And you're absolutely positive this will turn my hair black? Like, raven black? What kind of black are we talking, here?"

Sakura leaned in across the beauty store counter in her best Ibiki imitation and brandished a small bottle of dark liquid in front of the shopkeeper's grinning face.

"What do you think I've put in there, poison?"

"I assure you I would know if it was poison. It's my _specialty._ Now, I just want a wash-out dye, okay? My birthday is tomorrow and I wanted to try—"

"Look, I've already told you. It's a temporary dye. Not that it'll just all disappear as soon as you hop into the shower, you have to work at it, even these truly temporary kinds, but _you_ know. Or don't you? Haven't you ever done this before? I thought this kind of stuff was big with you kids."

"As a kunoichi, I have little time to cater to vanity. I just wanted to try something new. Most of my friends aren't even here, so it's not like they'll care."

She slapped down a couple bills and shifted her weight to her right leg, one hand on her hip, the other tipping the bottle precariously back and forth with a forefinger. The older women took the money and robotically made change, the smile never leaving her face. In spite of herself, Sakura was impressed. The woman had to get a lot of testy types in here to stare down Sakura's current state of attitude. Sure, Sakura wasn't exactly being fair, but even after a year of training under Tsunade she couldn't shake her nervousness around…beauty issues. Even chopping her own hair off with a kunai in a dark forest couldn't kill her curiosity. She really hadn't ever dyed her hair before, and besides, it might be useful for a mission one day!

_Yeah, maybe if all of a sudden I've forgotten every single transformation jutsu I know. Oh, who am I kidding? This is a vanity errand. _

It was still her birthday, though, and a girl had to make some allowances. And wasn't it nice just to let a little avarice creep in every once in a while. Vanity was the best of it.

She hopped on the balls of her feet while the woman took her sweet time bagging up the hateful bottle, ashamed of her rabbity glances toward the sidewalk, terrified someone she knew would saunter in and ask her what on earth she thought she was doing dying her hair, as her looks were obviously beyond all hope of redemption.

_Oh hush,_ she chided that restless inner voice. _Everything will be fine._

The transaction finally complete, Sakura snatched the bag from the woman's hand, colored a bit at her forwardness, and walked towards the door as fast as she could without running.

"If I might ask," the woman shouted after her, "how old will you be turning tomorrow?"

"Fourteen!"

Sakura took to the rooftops, silently sending out apologies to any roosting birds, and made for the relative safety of her house with as much grace as she could muster.

* * *

So here she was, trapped in her bathroom with the most garish green hair the world had ever seen in all its days.

"Damn, damn, damn, _damn,_ damnity damn!"

"You know, dear, not even creative swearing can save you now," Mrs. Haruno called out from the kitchen. Bless her, the woman tried her best to help. "Won't you just let me come in and see if I can get some of it out?"

"Mom, I've tried getting it out with everything we've got!" Sakura screeched, her panic rising with every word. "Shampoo, dish soap, ammonia…"

"That's very unsafe, you know, I hope you've—"

"Rinsed it, yeah, yeah. I got this."

"If you say so, dear. I called that store like you asked, and the woman who helped you wasn't there. They said she only works part-time. This really was foolish of you, you know. It says "Permanent" right on the label. I'd think you of all people would appreciate reading bottle labels."

"Bug off, mom!"

* * *

"Nice hat, Haruno. Converting to Islam?"

"It's a _hijab,_ Izumo, and it's not just Muslim women who wear them, you know. A great deal of Suna women have adopted the hijab over the centuries as a protection against the elements. And thank you for the compliment."

"So sexy you need to cover up, then?"

"And now you're being xenophobic. Go away, don't you have work to do?"

The next morning had done Sakura no favors. Her hair was still resolutely green, and in a second wave of panic, she'd grabbed an opaque turquoise scarf, a handful of pins, and a cotton under-scarf before dashing out the door to the Hokage tower. Thank goodness for travelling bazaars.

Predictably, she'd gotten more than a few stares from her colleagues, all of which she tried to ignore. With any luck, once the dye washed out, everyone would have long since penned the incident off as a crazy teenage phase and moved on to more exciting things. Unexpected illegitimate children, perhaps. Bad bananas on fruit sale day. A skirt in the pants section.

"Come on," Izumo drawled, "won't you at least tell me what you're up to? You're blushing like crazy, so something must be up."

"You are just like my mom! Always meddling! Now if you'll excuse me, I have to detoxify small children who don't know to keep out of medicine cabinets."

"I'll find out later, you know."

"Burn in hell."

* * *

By the time she finished work early at the hospital and wandered over to the code breakers' and reconnaissance office, Sakura seriously considered calling off her party. It was only a formality, really. Most of her friends were away training or on border patrols and the like. And it wouldn't be a party of her pre-academy years, when half the neighborhood came over to freeload the cake and ice cream. These days it felt like something you did just because you had to. Fancy that, fourteen years old and already birthday fatigued. Did she really want to submit to a juvenile tradition so she could completely embarrass herself?

She whisked past the front desk and headed into the back file room, unhindered by guards who knew by now to recognize her as a friendly face.

And who would she even invite? The only shinobi her age still in the village for one reason or another were Ino, Team Gai, Hinata, and…

"Shikamaru, can you get those rosters for me? My hands are a little full."

"Hmm."

Ah, right. Him, too.

Shikamaru glanced up from the desk where he stood scowling at a large map, hands braced on either edge of the crinkled paper.

"Haruno," he muttered in greeting before turning his attentions once more to a blown-up image of the northeastern Fire Country border. Sakura rolled her eyes a little.

"Sakura, Shikamaru. Don't get all old and crusty on us already."

"There's nothing wrong with being polite."

"But sometimes politeness has the tendency to drive people away if you're not careful."

"So does rudeness, obviously. I suppose we'll have to find ourselves a happy little medium, now won't we?"

"I guess so, Mr. Naka."

She paused, expectant.

"Well, aren't you going to say it?"

"Say what?" Shikamaru's eyebrows knit together, and Sakura had a feeling he wasn't paying much attention to her at all. What surprised her was her indignation at this realization. She was practically wearing a neon scarf on her head, wouldn't he notice it?

_Didn't I spend the entire day praying people _wouldn't_ notice? I should be leaping for joy. It's not like he would, though. I guess if _some_one could overlook something like this, it would be him._

Shikamaru saw a lot more than he let on, however, this Sakura knew for a fact.

"About the hijab, of course. People have been snarking all day. No sexist or anti-religious comments at all? I've heard some really creative ones."

At this, Shikamaru did straighten and meet her gaze for a while, his own expression quietly accusatory.

"Well, of course I noticed, I was just trying to figure out why you might be wearing it. I didn't want to say something stupid. You put it together quite nicely, by the way. You've worn one before." He stated rather than questioned.

So perhaps her outburst was a little assuming. The way he looked at her made her blush in indignity. Wasn't she allowed to be a little brash after being teased all day?

"Thanks. And yeah, I have. Someone showed me how when I bought it. It's rather nice, actually. For once I don't feel like pieces of my hair are going to fall into my face in the middle of a poison extraction. No wonder so many medics wear stuff like this. I might make it a habit."

"Hmm."

His gaze intensified, and Sakura squirmed when without warning he strolled from behind the desk and stood a short distance away from her.

"…What?"

"Your hair. That has to be it."

"Buh?"

"Did you get drunk and accidentally shave yourself bald or something? No, it would be closer to your head. It wasn't…"

"…Yes?"

"You dyed it."

"Yeah," Sakura sighed, then started a bit. "You won't—"

"I don't make it my business to gossip about people's hair troubles, Haruno. So what color is it? I'm guessing something horrible."

"I thought you said it didn't matter to you," she huffed.

"What I said was it wasn't my business to gossip. Is the hair making a grand entrance or what? I have meaningless papers to fetch, you know."

She rolled her eyes again, and Shikamaru smirked, an unguarded expression of understanding passing between them. _Someday,_ that look said, we'll _be the ones telling underlings to fetch meaningless papers. We'll play your game until then._

Sakura reached her hands up to unhook the pins and unwrap the scarves from her face, the folds of fabric blocking his reaction for several anxious moments.

When she finally looked up again after folding the fabric, she saw Shikamaru holding a hand to his face in a useless attempt to hide his laughter, and she looked down again, quite sure her face resembled a ripe tomato.

"No, I—I'm sorry, it's just—I was expecting brunette or something," Shikamaru took a deep breath to calm himself. A part of Sakura cheered at this. For all Shikamaru appeared indifferent to the earth, he wasn't immune to emotional responses. You just had to know how to draw them out.

"Brunette?" Sakura smiled bashfully.

"Yeah, or maybe you decided to go blonde or something."

"Blonde?" Now it was Sakura's turn to laugh. She looked at Shikamaru through half-lidded eyes and smirked.

"Blonde. You shouldn't, though." He smiled. With _teeth._ She was on a roll today.

"Think I can't handle being blonde?"

"No," his smile faded to something more subdued, and Sakura felt her heart skip a beat when he casually reached to tuck a wayward green curl behind her ear, brushing his fingers against her jaw line. "You need something more unique, more powerful," he continued. "Like you. Anyone can be a blonde with enough practice, even if it looks awful.

"It's an attitude you can acquire. You, though…you were meant for these colors now. Pinks and greens and blues. Things you don't see that often, that you have to grow into. It's someone like you who could wear this and command it with finesse." He paused, blinking, as though suddenly taking in their proximity, and Sakura felt his hand warm her cheek a bit where it had lingered. Or was that her own face heating up again? _His_ had certainly pinked a bit.

The hand abruptly dropped to his side and fisted, and he turned his gaze to a distant corner of the room. Sakura felt deeply disappointed for reasons she refused to explore at the moment.

"So anyway," he coughed. "The green's nice. It brings out your eyes."

Sakura pursed her lips, feeling a bright grin fighting to form underneath.

"So, Shikamaru…you should come to my birthday party tonight."

He looked up at that, face still as red as ever. "I didn't know you were having a party."

"I hadn't told anyone about the party yet. Just you." The grin escaped.

"Hmm…maybe we should keep it that way." Grins certainly were contagious these days. Her heart fluttered, and its rhythm beat so loud in her ears she thought for sure he could see hear pulse quickening. If it kept this up, she'd have to go to the cardio center.

"Oh yeah?"

"You don't have to, of course, I just—"

"Come to my house tonight at seven. I'll be ready. Green hair and all."

"I'll count on it."

He ran his fingers through the tips of her locks, and Sakura felt a twinge of disappointment that he carefully kept his touch from her skin this time. With practiced efficiency, Shikamaru turned from her and returned to his map as though nothing had occurred between them. When the head shinobi popped out from behind a bookshelf to ask could she _please_ have those damn papers already, Sakura almost felt the moment slip away when he looked up one last time and gave her a single, slow wink.

* * *

"Sakura, honey, I think I know a way to help the dye out faster, I—Oh, your scarf is gone!"

"Mom, I don't think I need to wash it out just yet."

"_What?_ After all that fuss?"

"I figured out it really doesn't matter. Who cares what people say? It's not like the norm was any less bizarre. I'm okay with it for now until it grows back. I can really _command_ green hair, you know?"

"What the hell happened to you today? You look _giddy."_

"Leave the porch light on tonight, will you?"

"Sakura…"

But Sakura had already retreated to her bedroom and hung the scarf on the wall for another day. Sure, she might have caused more trouble than it all was worth, but for a lesson like today's she'd dye her hair a thousand times more to feel those warm hands again.

Maybe a little vanity once in a while wasn't so bad after all.

* * *

**A/N:** I wrote this all in one go! Moar props if you can guess this oneshot's inspiration! It's one of my favorite books of all time. Last chapter's were "The Rabbit Catcher" by Sylvia Plath and _Rosencrantz and Guildenstern Are Dead_ by Tom Stoppard. The one that you will not be able to glean even if I tell you was from the short story "Sleep" by Haruki Murakami. Beautiful piece of work.

If you are wearing a hijab right now, tell me what color it is! If you already took it off, tell me what color you're going to wear tomorrow!


	3. Device: Ino

**A/N:** Back from Europe; sorry guys. Anyway, this takes place after Chapter 487, although if you're not up there with the rest of us it may just work anywhere if you put your mind to it. It's more from another character's point of view this time.

Don't forget to take my survey on my profile page! I want to sniff out all you IB nerds. Death to the Internal Assessment!

* * *

**Device**

Sakura and Ino

* * *

"Ino, do you ever think about your life being a metaphor?"

"What?"

"Your life."

"Being a metaphor?"

"Or a trope, I guess would be more accurate. A _device,_ really."

"A device."

"Right."

Ino rolled onto her stomach and looked at her friend through eyes squinted in the bright sun. The picnic had been her idea, a final distraction before what would certainly be a long series of battles began. Long past her childhood delusions of attachment to certain dark-haired men, she had spent the past few weeks brooding over her wasted early life and belatedly wondered if Sakura might feel the same. She didn't see much of the girl anymore, really, a shame when once they had seemed so inseparable. A picnic would surely provide ample, neutral grounds on which to discuss unimportant topics while relishing in priceless minutes of apathy.

Of course, Sakura _would_ be the one to bring her dreams back down to earth.

First Forehead had gone off on a long tangent concerning suicide and existing after death, which Ino personally found quite disconcerting, and now she was off again about the meaning of life or some such nonsense. Not for the first time, Ino wished for a switch on the side of Sakura's head to control her current levels of nostalgia and despair. Right now she could really go for "Life is Wonderful" over "Let's Talk About Electrocution in the Bathtub and How It Makes Me Chew My Sandwich Slowly as I Relish in the Enigma that is Life."

Was it too much to ask? Ino sighed.

"What do you mean, Sakura?"

"I sometimes think my life might be a device. If that's the word I'm looking for."

"How so?"

"Do you ever think…that you're only there for someone else's purpose? Like your choices are meaningless because—oh, I don't know, because…because…your end is predetermined? Or your life, rather. Not death, I'm not talking about death."

"Are we talking about fate, then?"

"No, it's—"

"Destiny."

"No, no. Ino?"

"Sakura?"

"I am a woman living in a man's world. _We_ are."

"Women living in a man's world."

"Yes. But me in particular, I like to think I've come a long way. I was a worthless mess until a lot of things happened. You, Kakashi-sensei (well, sort of), Tsunade and Shizune…now look at me. I'm surpassing Tsunade in medical finesse and I can punch holes in mountains. I saved the Kazekage's brother. I killed one of Pain's summons. But then…when it _really_ matters, when I can make a _real_ difference, and change the course of the entire story, I can't do it, I can't—" Sakura's eyelashes fluttered closed for a moment before her gaze abruptly met Ino's once more, as though she were suddenly reminded of her presence. "Don't look at me that way, Ino."

Ino had pushed herself up on her elbows to glare at her friend halfway through her soliloquy, concerned. Sakura often made her exasperated, but rarely nervous and edgy. For some reason, a sick feeling began to form in the pit of her stomach and spread traitorously throughout her body.

"Well, how do you want me to look at you after _that?_ So what you're saying is you don't think you're important?"

"It's sounds awful, but you're exactly right."

"Sakura…"

"He had to save me, Ino. He had to _save_ me."

"Who saved you?"

"It doesn't fucking _matter."_ Sakura rolled onto her back and moved her hands to cover her face. "The point is that once again, I was a transition for a bigger fish to take the bait. _Again._ I hate myself for it so much. It's not _fair._ I'm the pretentious damsel in distress, the one who almost makes it, the lead female who subconsciously continues to rely on men even after her initiation into independence and womanhood. I can't _ever_ get away from it, these roles I'm made to fill. Or do I make my_self_ fill them? Who or what am I chained to? It makes no goddamn _sense."_

Ino chewed on her lower lip and began to tap her fingers nervously on the blanket. She wanted to take Sakura in her arms and prove to her that she was all wrong, that those thoughts and anxieties were born out of coincidences, freak occurrences, but a desperate part of her mind would not allow it. That part of her knew that somehow, for reasons unknown, Sakura was right. What forces of fate were at work here? Ino could fairly sense the trepidation emanating to her right, and felt guilty in her silence at the same time she felt no compelling compulsion to intercede.

"It's like it doesn't matter what my choices are, like as long as Naruto finishes his story, mine will be finished as well by default, no matter where I am or what I have done. Like his story _makes_ my own, and I have no presence…and no future, except to add to his. Has my whole life been meaningless? Has it all been building up as an interesting side note? Am I merely an item for main character development, as it were?"

Sakura sat up and tilted her face up to look at the clouds. They were moving fast today. You could blink your eyes and not find the same one twice.

"Ino, when it all comes down to substance and essence…do I really even matter?"

But Ino remained silent once more, and leaned the bridge of her nose against her folded arms, disquieted. Perhaps someday, she would have the confidence to respond to that question, one she had asked herself in the mirror so many times. Perhaps someday, she would laugh at her past fears and—

For now, it was all she could do to keep the answer she feared the truth from choking the life out of her, and with it the last bit of hope for them both. When Sakura spoke again, Ino jumped, startled out of her dark imaginings.

"Funny things, picnics. They make me think the strangest things. Tea?"

The heaviness broken, Ino nodded her consent, and together with Sakura began packing up the remains of their shared meal.


	4. Moonstone: Kisame

**A/N:** For IvyAdrena, who requested KisaSaku with the prompt: _It is good that we do not have to try to kill the sun or the moon or the stars. It is enough to live on the sea and kill our true brothers._

If you would like to request a chapter, please do so. Name the main character besides Sakura (she's a given) and give me a prompt. I don't work on names and pairings alone. A quote, like the one above, a scenario, you get the idea. You're not noobs. Just don't name a character that's been done before. As of this chapter, your options are pretty huge! And make sure to tell me if it's a pairing or not, or just two characters interacting in a platonic manner.

* * *

**Moonstone**

Sakura and Kisame

* * *

Lying out on the beach in the night is her idea.

He won't touch her like this, for this is their time alone away from prying eyes and petulant questions. Arguments, sighs, dull conversation, whispers of adoration, dry rebuffs, may pass safely through the shutters of a house, safely between familiar faces and familiar land.

But there's something in the wild wind from across the sea, the wind that so carelessly upsets the stark moonlight shadows of the tallgrasses. It breathes like a revolution within the confines of nature's fusty ways and belittles all sense of human understanding.

They sit vigil here every night the full moon comes out, the two of them drawn up and silent, comfortable in the mutual understanding that no pretense of social mores will invade this sacred ritual.

She always arrives saturated in the sterile stench of her lab, he sporting only the lingering wisps of blood, washed away at her request. 'It's not that blood or death bothers me,' she told him once, 'it's that I don't like people walking around wearing it. There's no respect for what was lost, and as a medic I respect life more than I can say.'

But what greater respect than the knowledge that such a battle was fought, he asks her. Some of the blood is his own, he tells her. Clean deaths are easy ones, the ones that never show until the body is found. These men fought like beasts, and leave their traces in woven thread. It is enough for him to kill his own kind and feel satisfaction in having done so at an expense. She shakes her head and does not understand, and he accepts this. She always reached for something better than herself, and he allows this. One day, he _will_ make her understand why he kills the way he does.

Tonight, he gives the necklace to her, moonstone and sterling silver, a relic of ages gone by that caught his eye hanging on the edge of a nightstand of his most recent conquest. She smiles coyly at him, and from then on when she looks at it she will admire his cleverness; the moon, their special sign, caught between the cool metal strands.

But to him, the necklace means more. From now on, when he sees her wear it he will be reminded of the things that bind her, her aspirations that, like the moon, should be merely admired for their distant perfection but instead feed on her tears and broken spirit when she fails yet again.

He doesn't mind her this way, though; the way she is in the moment she catches the trinket between her fingers, her eyes bright in the borrowed light, excites him. She is unguarded and tender and he feels a bit predatory, towering over her like a hawk on a ledge, but what does he live for if not the thrill of the hunt?


	5. Dream: Minato

**A/N:** MinatoSakura for TwistedInABottle, with the theme "dare to dream"! Thank you to everyone who has submitted their requests. Please continue to do so! I'm getting to these, I promise you. They just definitely take a back seat to my education at the moment.

I know I told you this would be really short, but…gaw, I can't do it. The next chapter I am limiting myself to…one hundred words. That's it. That is _all._

* * *

**Dream**

Sakura and Minato

* * *

The last thing in her mind was a fist that escaped her notice until it was too close to do anything about it. Everything before that is a mystery, a whole lot of recollections pieced together haphazardly as though by a child repairing a broken toy.

"Damn," she mutters under her breath. One minute she's having a spar with Naruto on their training grounds and the next she wakes up in this…flowery, sunshiney place. Lying on her back in the middle of the greenest, most fragrant, forest-enclosed meadow she's ever seen, with the hint of cutesy little town buildings way off in the distance. And of course, there are the scenic purple mountains. Of _course,_ there would be mountains. To compliment the blue, blue sky and its perfect clouds.

Strange, her knockout dreams usually involve more winged cats playing tympanis and an incessant buzzing noise in the background. But this…this is heavenly. For a moment, she wonders if Naruto has accidentally killed her. The self-directed shock comes at her realization that in no way is she concerned by this possibility. She's…not even angry. Far from it, actually.

Slowly she pushes up to rest on her elbows, marveling at this odd grass that caresses her skin like silk, a far cry from the itchy rashes she usually gets on those Konoha days nice enough to risk lying in her backyard. Rolling onto her stomach, she stands to her feet and stretches her hands up into the air, smiling when there is no strain at all, as though all the stress has left her and will never return.

"Thanks, Naruto," she sings out at the top of her voice, and laughs giddily in between words when her voice carries across the grasses. "This is…this…is…wonderful!"

"It is, isn't it?"

And then _he_ arrives.

"My name is Minato Namikaze. You must be Sakura Haruno."

He didn't have time to say anything else before Sakura lunged at him.

* * *

"Nobody believes I saw you, Minato. After I came to, they looked terrified and relieved, in that order, and proceeded to put away all my comments as trauma-induced ravings. Whaaaatever."

They have established a few things by now. After that first awkward meeting, the second is much easier and much more natural. She no longer thinks he is Naruto playing a stupid joke, and he no longer mistakes her enthusiastic hugs for attempted murder.

She still doesn't know what this place is, only that Minato ended up here after he died. He has a theory that her brush with death knocked her here before her time, and she in turn believes that the allowance created a two-way door that she can now access with her mind and a little unconsciousness. As of meeting number two, the theory works so far. From what she remembers, and that isn't much, she went to sleep after a hard day at work and ended up here again.

"But the weird thing is," she says, putting the finishing touches on a flower necklace, "this feels like an unbroken span of time, where normally sleep is a cycle, with dreams occurring in segments.—Pansy. Thanks.—Then you wake up, you piece them all together like it was one big dream because your brain is filling in the blanks.—Daisy. Never mind, clover.—So I wonder if there really are gaps in my time here but I'm just putting them together in my mind."

"I notice you don't give any substance to the idea that this might be a real place, and your mind is awake, here, instead of asleep, there. You can't remember much, can you?"

Her hands still for a moment, and she thinks he might be sorry for disturbing her peace.

"No, but the thing is…that doesn't bother me. Nothing bothers me here. Isn't that weird? It's like my old life is a big, ugly nightmare and I'm waking up for the first time in here. Everything is so clear in here, like the outlines are all sure of themselves. It's so perfect and unmarred by perception."

"How very metaphorical."

"It is, isn't it? Dandelion."

* * *

"I have to stop talking about you. People think I'm being insane."

She's lost track of how many times she's visited him now. No longer trusting her own body to lead her there at night (it's entirely too sensitive to night noises, and she isn't fond of her visits being interrupted by consciousness), she now takes pills to help her stay the darkness and keep her mind disconnected from her physical form. It might be dangerous, but at least it's foolproof, she rationalizes. He doesn't have an opinion on this one way or another. It seems he's as incapable of worry or suspicion as she is.

"I would imagine people would think so."

"Minato, have you ever visited the town?"

"The town?"

"Yes, those buildings over there." She points.

"Oh, you know, I've never really liked going there. I prefer the quiet of the meadow."

"Are there people there?"

"Oh, yes. People just like you and me. And some summons. There seems to be an awful lot of _them._ They run the stores and things."

"Huh. I think I'd like to see that sometime."

"But not now." His blue eyes glitter with the first hint of mischief she's seen thus far. "Not yet."

"Why not?"

"Once you leave the meadow, you can't go back to the other place. That's what people say, anyway. The treeline marks the edge of the divide."

"All right."

"Hmm."

* * *

The next time she visits him the landscape lines are blurred, and although she can see the structures and feel the grass from before, the solidity implied behind them is lost in a swirling fog. But he is the same as always, so sharp and defined that her eyes water just to look at him.

"It's so strange…I already told you I can't remember exactly what I was doing before I came here, like the other place is a dream and this is real. But there…it feels the same, just the other way around. Isn't that strange?"

He smiles and does not answer, for by now he knows the difference between conversation and thinking aloud. She never likes her thoughts answered. She speaks into the open air as though to a diary and takes great pleasure in antagonizing eavesdroppers who dare to opinionate.

"But as soon as I come back, everything else comes with it. All the memories I've made here…and you. You always come back. Are you real?"

"If I am real to you, then I am real enough."

* * *

All she remembers now of her old life are fragments of memories and a final flash of pain marking the end of her days. Another responsibility, another mission, and the details she can no longer remember.

Occasionally she will feel a pang of guilt for her selfishness, for her acquiescence to this world that is good and pure and free of the wickedness that has plagued her for so long. For now, this choice she has made will always be worth it. She knew she would stay here from the moment she arrived.

Once this world has a taste of your presence, it will not rest until it has captured you, he told her once. It becomes a part of you, integrated into your being to a point where you can peel away your flesh, layers and layers of it down to the bone, and find it has made its way to your core.

Sakura tries and cannot feel any resentment for this intrusion. Yes, perhaps she has been possessed, violated even, by this beautiful world, but wasn't that all right if it was for the better? A lot of things are that way in the other world, she muses, but here the possession is no secret, unhindered by political alliances and greed. This place waged war on her will and it has won, silently and gracefully, and she softly falls into its waiting jaws. No more of this bothersome worrying, it whispers. Take hold of your cares and cast them aside.

She moves forward, to the place where he is waiting for her between the trees.


	6. Traditional: Kiba

**A/N: **Kiba and Sakura for _moi_ with the prompt given by the plot bunny monster! Hey, I'm allowed to request things to myself. I'm limiting myself to a single scene and four hundred words.

* * *

**Traditional**

Sakura and Kiba

* * *

Sakura gave her dress straps one final adjustment. This was it. She was, at most, twenty minutes to announcing her engagement to Kiba to the entire Inuzuka Clan at a family dinner. Er, Inuzuka Pack? Steeling her nerves, she lifted a heeled foot to step over the threshold when Kiba's hand suddenly caught her elbow, preventing further movement.

"Wait," he whispered, appearing panicked. "I have to tell you something first. About my family."

Sakura's stomach sank like a rock. Something in her abject horror must have registered on her face, because Kiba released her to hold up two placating hands.

"No, no, it's not serious or anything, it's just…well, if you're going to be one of _us_ I at least owe you a prior familiarity to the family…tradition. Or lack of, to be specific."

"What do you mean?"

"It happened when I was really little. We were all just sitting around at dinner waiting for my dad to come sit down, because the tradition is—was—that we don't start eating until both alphas are at the table. That's when _it_ happened. 'You know what,' my father said, 'I don't _like_ that family tradition. From now on the ancient family tradition is to walk around a building twice before we enter it. Just on holidays and weekends, of course.' And since then, him and my mom have been changing rules all over the place. Just watch, as soon as we sit down someone will bring it up and it'll be a new thing we have to do. You know, for about a year our family crest was a unicorn jumping over a rainbow because the family tradition was to let the youngest-able member design it. I'm glad that one didn't last long. It was just plain embarrassing."

Sakura snorted with laughter. "Kiba, that's great! I was really scared there for a minute. I thought you were going to say something like I had to submit to some sort of family ceremony to ensure my virginity before marriage. Hey, don't look at me like that, it really happens in some places! Especially with prominent families."

Kiba took her arm and grinned. "Well, it's a good thing no one's brought that one up yet. Because then we'd just have to elope."


	7. Weeds: Zetsu

**A/N: **SakuZetsu for Abra Cadaverous with a quote: "Maybe if she just poured weed killer on him…"

I'm going for a hundred words on this one to test myself. Stop looking at me like that, _I can do it._

* * *

**Weeds**

Sakura and Zetsu

* * *

He's not a weed, he's a gravely misunderstood flower.

And what's the difference, anyway? There shouldn't be any. People compartmentalize beauty and love based on perception, and this is simply wrong.

Sakura laughs at him fondly. For all his dark habits, he still provides her with this innocent entertainment, repentance for provoking her anger again. He's always like this in bed, the white half.

The black half gets mischievous at this point and coyly suggests that maybe if she just poured weed killer on them she wouldn't have this problem.

But she couldn't forsake them, not for all the world.

* * *

**A/N: **One hundred words exactly! That was difficult. It's harder to put meaning into something so much smaller. It makes me wonder how much filler I have in everything else.


	8. Bananas: Gaara

**A/N:** I'm not gonna lie, I giggled like an idiot the entire time I wrote this. I looked at the chapters I've done so far and realized that like 3/4ths of them are ultra serious and I needed to do something to wind down. And funny I should say that…

This is for TwistedInABottle again, who requested GaaSaku a while back, and since there was no prompt at the time I went out on a limb. Boy, did I go out on a limb. MAN, guys. Hold onto your sanities for a while, here. Due to a late addition, however, I will also be including a quote: "Quiet is sometimes disquieting."

And I just realized that it might help to place the time period for these fics, since it's not like they're in chronological order. This one takes place in After the Mess, which to me means after all the major plot points in the manga have been taken care of so I don't have to worry about explaining why who's where and all that. You know the drill. There's a category like this for every fandom, you know?

* * *

**Bananas**

Sakura and Gaara

* * *

Ino told Sakura once that after she and Shikamaru have sex, Shikamaru reaches into his pillowcase, pulls out a single cigarette, and lights up as a way to wind down. 'Not too terribly original,' the blonde sighed, 'but having a pattern is comforting. I know he won't do anything weird like ask me to brush his hair or something.'

Sakura never told Ino that after she and Gaara have sex, Gaara reaches into _his_ pillowcase, pulls out a container of banana cream pie…and eats the banana cream pie. Something told her that that particular revelation would be awkward no matter what kind of conversation was going on. Indeed, Sakura played out many scenarios in which such conversation might arise in which to reveal this bizarre trivia, but each of them ended with the conversation buddy leaning back and staring at her with wide, disbelieving eyes.

There's a reason for it, though, which makes the whole thing minutely less odd. Every time she watches him pull the banana out from between the pillow and the case, like now, for instance—and how does he _get_ those things under there without her noticing?—the same scene will play out every time. He will pull the lid back and take his first, worshipfully delicate bite with the fork he keeps in the night stand, politely ask her if she would also like a bite—she will gently refuse—and then she will roll onto her side while she thinks back to the day where it all began.

* * *

Sakura may not have been a baker, but you couldn't say she wasn't determined to make herself into one. This week: pies. Cream, fruit, meat, and everything in between, they _would_ be mastered by the weekend, she promised herself as she laced up her mother's apron. Sasuke may have decided to fly the coop, but when he came back and married her—which he would, she was sure—he would expect his wife to be able to take care of him in the dinner department. As a result, Sakura latched onto her dream of becoming the greatest thirteen-year-old chef in the world, second to her dream of being able to open up a can of whoop-ass on anyone who looked at her funny, no more of this cower in the shadows bullshit.

"No deluding myself that I can just start at the top, though. Begin with the easy stuff, Haruno, and work your way up," she muttered to herself as she began browsing through her mother's cookbooks.

"Ah, banana cream pie. Easy. I'll have this done in no time."

And true to her word, Sakura had assembled the entire contraption in less than twenty minutes. Okay, so she had used pre-made crust and whipped cream from a can, but oh, well. Baby steps. She set the pie on the kitchen counter and ambled to the living room to watch her afternoon soaps. To hell and damnation with training. Today was an _off_ day, dammit.

* * *

Gaara of the Sand rather liked these diplomatic trips with his siblings. They meant that while others sweated and debated within the confines of a building, he had precious hours to himself to stroll the sidewalks virtually anonymously. The only people who even remembered him were the shinobi, and they knew better to stare openly at him. Just this morning, he bought a sandwich from a vendor without a single glimmer of terror shining through the woman's eyes. What a treat.

Finishing off the last bite, Gaara glanced about him for a trashcan. Spotting one against a wall in a residential alleyway, he calmly walked toward it with the wrapper crumpled in his hand.

He lifted up the lid and abruptly came to a halt. A circular shadow on the pavement directly ahead of him grabbed his attention for all of one second before a perfect banana cream pie landed directly on top of his head.

* * *

Whatever Sakura expected to see on the other side of the door when she answered the ring, it was not Gaara of the Sand. She really didn't expect to see him covered head to toe with flecks of banana budding and cream, the remains of her pie tin clutched in his hands in front of his body like a purse. For five seconds, she stared at him with her mouth open, dead silent.

"Is this your house?" His face remained calm, his eyes betraying no sign of anger. If he hadn't been, well, Gaara, she probably would have been doubled over laughing by now at the sight.

"Y—yes?"

"This pie fell out of the window when I was walking by."

"I am _so_ sorry. I don't know what could have happened—I put it on the counter, I'm sure of it…my—my mom must have put it on the sill to make some room for dinner, and—oh, God, I am so sorry. I had no idea, I swear I..." Well aware she was all but begging for mercy at this point and babbling it out to boot, she completely missed the tightening of his lips signaling a hidden smile underneath.

"I like banana pie," he interrupted her tirade. She squeaked and fell silent, unsure what to do next. He certainly didn't make any allowances for awkward social moments. In fact, he seemed deadly skilled at creating them in the first place.

"I, uh, that's good! I…liked making it."

He handed the pie tin to her and walked away without another word.

* * *

After that incident, which she would refer to as the Banana Cream Pie Seduction Mission within the confines of her imagination, she seemed to see more of Gaara in the next few months than she had seen in the past couple years put together. He always seemed to find some excuse to see her, whether it was tagging along with Temari and Kankuro on yet another diplomatic excursion or deciding that coming to visit her house was more important then reporting immediately to his village after a mission. And every time, he would take her to a pastry shop and insist on sharing a piece of banana cream pie, in memory of the very entity that had first brought them together.

People talked, as she knew they would, but by then Sakura expected it. Had people _not_ talked, she would have felt decidedly more anxious. In the world of shinobi, quiet is sometimes disquieting, and the attachment of a Sannin's apprentice to a soon-to-be-Kazekage in an absence of uproar would have driven her to paranoid thoughts.

As it were, being in such close contact to his intense personality made her more daring and reckless than she had ever been in her social life. Having two weeks off while Tsunade paid a visit to the Village Hidden in the Mist, she impulsively tagged along on a border patrol group in order to visit him, which all but caused a riot when this news traveled the Suna grapevine.

He made her reckless. After that, she didn't even use an excuse anymore. When he was to be named official Kazekage and she asked Tsunade's permission to attend the ceremony as his personal guest, the Hokage graciously accepted. Those kinds of political alliances would turn out favorable, of course. And if she could help it along any way she could, so be it.

* * *

So now Sakura needs to reason at all to see him. She sees him every day when they get up in the morning and every evening when they go to bed, and several times in between if Gaara decides to abandon an appointment to see her in the hospital. If she wants to visit his office she no longer relies on wit to get herself there; she climbs in the window, feeling pleased tingle at Gaara's warm reception (and offer of pie). No one really seems to quite understand their relationship, and Sakura can't say she understands it herself.

But the entire village will agree that the addition of a massive banana farm in the newly-built greenhouses is a huge boost to the local economy.

* * *

**A/N:** So basically this is the weirdest GaaSaku get-together you have ever read. Between you and me, though, this needed to happen.

I…don't know where these things come from.


	9. Plans: Sasuke

**A/N:** Hey guys, I'm not dead. Just negligent. That's a valid excuse, right? Also, am I a bad person for thinking about writing HP fic? I AM SCARING MYSELF RIGHT NOW GUYS. Anyway, this ficlet is for Ataokoloinona. I challenged myself to write this one in letter form!

Prompts: The song "So Long Sentiment" by Celldweller and the quote "Between stimulus and response there is a space. In that space is our power to choose our response. In our response lies our growth and our freedom" from Viktor E. Frankl. I decided not to include them this time but instead use their implications alone.

For my fellow nitpickers, underlines are used instead of italics in the intent that the letter will have a more "lettery" feel, because only total badasses can write in actual italics. And no, it's not just slanting your letters sideways. There is a FORM. Never mind that it would have actually been written in Japanese _whatever_ guys don't get no reputation off of me. Moving on.

Music: "Lovefool" by The Cardigans

Intentional: No

* * *

**Plans**

Sakura and Sasuke

* * *

_To:_ —

_Destination:_ Hidden Leaf Village

_Current Location:_ Hidden Mist Village, Southern Port

I don't know how to say this, or even where to begin. I won't pretend I know what I'm doing, or even where I'm going now that I have done this. Right now the only assurance I have left is that by the time anyone reads this I will be long gone, and that people will gossip about me at least a little bit before I fade out of cognitive thought. I have placed this where I know someone relevant to my cause will have found it. They will find this, my last declaration caught between ink and scroll, and bring it back to you, whoever you are. I would like for Naruto to find it, though I suppose it doesn't matter who you are, finder of this letter, because eventually everyone who cares will have these words practically memorized for signs of a clue, a trace. Find it, then.

You may call me childish, impulsive, selfish. But is it so wrong to indulge? I am not the only acceptable match for Sasuke, merely the preferred one, for popularity. I am noticeable, so I am noticed, yet for all the wrong reasons. I had hoped not to become as bitter as my master, and here I am turning into her pink-haired doppelganger. She always told me, after the sake shots had passed an innumerable amount of times to her lips, that no matter how much a woman accomplished in this village, in the end she goes one of two ways down the social memory drain: a vessel of life or a pariah. For the less poetic, this means a choice between housewife and That Woman people make inappropriate sexual comments about for being in her thirties and single.

This wasn't easy, you know, for me to decide to leave. I was never abused, never coerced, never vaguely threatened or otherwise, into the engagement. But I have found since then that the worst damage that can ever be done to one's self-respect isn't through any amount of force or anger. The worst thing anyone can do to you is to watch you run headlong towards ruin and make you feel good about what you're doing the entire time. Then, you never know you've been devalued until years later when you look around and realize that the world you live in isn't anything like what you had ever hoped for, because there were people all along the way who encouraged you to sacrifice until there was nothing left, smiling the entire time you disappeared, and finally turning to the next future martyr.

Naruto, please forgive me for not giving you your happy ending. But when everything ended and Sasuke turned to me, expecting to see me hovering there, automatic like clockwork and just as unfeeling, I thought for sure that after all we had been through, all I had confessed, that you would see me standing there waiting for you. Waiting like I should have always done. It was with you I could have grown, I know this. I know this. We would have had beautiful children, when we were ready. With Sasuke, I knew—with several mental years between me and that girl who loved him from across the academy classroom—that I would be faced with one pregnancy after another until I hit menopause in the persistent ambition to revive a dead society.

And I would have been willing! I love my village, Naruto. When I return from a mission and see the buildings poking up over the trees it's like coming home to someone who loves you like no one else can possibly accomplish. I would have bent to its will, I would have understood the importance of the Sharingan's preservation within Konoha, and my place in the plan to resurrect the Uchiha Clan. But I am not that girl anymore, either.

Why the change?

I made a choice to work against my natural response, somewhere between the inquiry and the expected "Yes, yes, of course I will!" everyone wanted to hear. Later on I would become furious that everyone was right all along; I did say that, like a good little kunoichi. At least, at that moment they were right, and for a while afterward.

If you know me, you know the places I have been and the person I became on the surface. Broken, defeated, I sought strength from strength itself; my idol, the representation of the freed woman, Tsunade taught me to live alone and appreciate myself as the first and last resort for all situations. Pity that it took such a dramatic leap of faith to fully understand her credo, but then I guess it if had happened any other way I wouldn't quite appreciate it, like losing your legs before you realize how much you liked being able to run.

Naruto, I found some better legs. Laugh if you want to; I'm actually smiling myself as I write this. It's odd, but I thought for sure I'd be crying by now. It's what I do. I can steal life away from Death himself, I will stand up to Sasori with fire searing the insides of my veins, I run without hesitation to crush massive summoned centipedes, and yet the foundation I'd built up around myself always realized its weaknesses when confronting with the very thing that stimulated its construction.

It's difficult to escape your own nature, you see. I was the girl who sticks out her chest when she's the last hope and slinks behind the legs of the hero when he belatedly arrives. I was the girl who openly declares her newfound freedom even for the sake of being contrary and collapses upon reaching the core of her inspiration to leave her cage. I had a parakeet that, after I tended to its broken wing, stuck around the house for months, loathe to leave a ready source of food. After all, why put out the effort if it isn't immediately needed? And I lived that life with the blessing of everyone I knew. You tried your best, Sakura. We can only reach our potential, and thinking you can reach beyond that is a recipe for hurt. I can see most of my peers slowly nodding their heads, murmuring a 'true, true' among them before passing the hookah along the philosophical circle. Even in this most serious situation I can't escape my own imagination, but at least that's one thing I want to keep forever, even if it means pinching my arms at funerals to keep from bursting out laughing at some irrelevant something-or-other. That's a me I don't mind keeping.

But can't you see what I mean, Naruto? Sasuke, if you're reading this. Anyone. Everyone. No one. I almost fell into your trap, I almost gave myself away. The panic settled in the moment you, Naruto, looked at the two of us in turn and smiled the fakest smile I've ever seen on your face, giving your blessing for our renewed relationship. Part of me knew you did this because you thought it was what I wanted, and you were ready to sacrifice your own love for what you thought was my own. Why did you do this? And so part of me fell asleep, the part that wanted to fight back, to tell you all this and damn who heard what. When you nudged me away, I left one of the greatest sources of my courage and I was left with the dying sparks of my individuality.

I suppose I ought to thank you, then. I feel like a bitch saying this, but you rejecting me was the greatest blessing I have ever received. You made me find myself for real this time, without Tsunade, without a Naruto to gaze upon in awe. I found myself between a cold Uchiha's smirk and a wedding I will never attend, at first frightened but ultimately emboldened by an inner strength I never knew I had.

Looking back over this letter, it doesn't make a lot of sense. I wouldn't expect it to, really. One of those stream-of-consciousness things, you see. And I'm barely eighteen, so it's not exactly like I have a lifetime experience of perfecting my syntax. So sorry if some of this seems pieced together, thrown together, random, or nonsensical. For a goodbye, as goodbyes go, it's probably pretty lame.

But, the thing is…I don't really know what else to say that could possibly justify this move to anyone else. I have only my own certainty that this is the right thing for me to do. I will not dwell on this past. I do not know Sasuke's fiancé. The girl where she stood has a new identity, a life of her very own. I have considered changing my name, but even after all this it's hard to escape that last bit of familiarity. I need something to hold onto, at night when I feel so alone that I can hardly breathe. But even though I can't transfer into my spirit the kind of rigidity that possessed my Master to drop her entire life and whisk away, I cannot torture myself with visions of the past, so please don't wish me back. Sakura cannot ever come back. She must not, for her own safety. I am her protector now.

Best wishes,

—

* * *

**A/N: **So I requested my own self and the next chapter is the result of that unfortunate experience. You are not prepared. Don't ask me or I'll cave in and give you hints. Lord knows I can't refuse without severe emotional trauma. Other requests are still getting done! Here is what I have to go: KakuSaku, JuuSaku. Anything else is free game.


	10. Velociraptors: Omoi

**A/N:** Aelibia creates stupid alternate universes and doesn't afraid of anything.

Also, so glad _Take It Or Leave It_ is done. Now I guess there's nothing left for me to do but plug away on this, fix Abendrot, or start another fic. But what could I write? I would so love to get into another fandom just to see, you know? But the only ones I really know are HP and DBZ and both already have really good fics. I need to find some obscure fandom to mess around in, man. I'll definitely have to think about this. I wonder what all the Discworld people are up to…

P.S. Omoi is a member of Team Samui and is Killer Bee's student. I wanted to pick a character that probably no one cared about too much since all I'm really doing with this is catering to my dinosaur itch. Also know that natural habitats/habits are screwed up here, I know this, so calm down son.

* * *

**Velociraptors**

Sakura and Omoi

* * *

The sounds of the dusk-lit forest thrummed in her ears like a living creature, breathing and dying and making new life in a single instant. A sharp cry resonated from beyond the trees, and Sakura the velociraptor raised her feathered head from its inquiry into a scratched-over den to stand alert and wait. Surely there wouldn't be any other predators around at this time of day. She knew from scouting in weeks past that most others had long abandoned the drought-stricken forest in search of easier nourishment in times of drought, but remained on edge for whatever had decided to invade her space.

Parting the ferns like a wader in a pool, Gai the Pinacosaurus ambled in her direction and she crooned softly, relieved that she wouldn't have to waste precious energy fighting for dominance. Quarry this large was out of her league, but at least the two of them weren't fighting for an identical niche.

Looking around again, she tasted the air fitfully, frustrated at her finds today. If she and her mate Omoi had no food today, her eggs might very well be lost before they were even laid, and that would mark the end of an era for their kind in the forest. So few of them still remained to guard the major nest. She supposed that she could always leave with Omoi to go north to his birthplace, but considering the journey there and what perils lay along the way, she preferred to stay in one location until all hope was lost. Foolish, perhaps, but more comfortable.

A new scent strayed her way on the breeze, sharper than the heady scent of leaves and dust or the murky funk of Gai-sensei. Her mate burst from the trees with something caught in his beak, and for the first time in days Sakura perked up and began to squawk excitedly. A long strip of fresh meat dangled from his jaws, and he flapped his stunted wings at her in a beckoning gesture before dashing off again, this time Sakura following close behind.

The protoceratops he had intercepted was on the old side, Sakura observed as she reached its still-bleeding body underneath a massive tree, but in times like this she couldn't complain. Bracing a strong-muscled leg against its flank, she reached down and began to tear into the dead beast with fervor, pausing in between bites to chortle at her mate in appreciation for his find.

Luckily, between the two of them they ate their fill, Sakura once again happy to hunt in an area of such reduced competition. For the first time in weeks she felt full enough to be drowsy, and, even better, she scented the barest hint of rainfall to the East, heading their way. As the pair left the kill together to return to their empty nest, the smaller scavengers began to tuck into the borrowed meal, tearing strips of drying flesh from ribs and femurs too large to intercept on their own. Upon reaching their temporary home, the two velociraptors curled up side-by-side, happy to once again have enough peace to put more pressing worries aside for the time being.

As the sun set over the Late Cretaceous foliage, Sakura closed her eyes and hummed deep in her throat, already making plans for tomorrow to scout out a new location to lay the eggs she could feel looming closer to arrival. Soon her children would be born, and above all she believed they deserved to live in a forest where prey was a guarantee, not a stroke of dumb luck, and if the evidence today was any factor, soon life would return to the trees, and with it the ability to thrive.

* * *

**A/N:** So yeah, I've officially lost it. Don't hate me. Working on actual requests now! Is anyone out there actually a part of the Discworld fandom? What goes on in there?


	11. Words: Juugo

**A/N:** Okay, so I accidentally deleted my flash drive that held ALL OF MY FANFICTION STUFF (I overloaded the thing and it gave out on me). So, I lost all requests I was given. I'm looking back through my messages to get them, but just in case would you please put your prompt in your review? That way I can give you what you deserve _and_ you can make my review count go up! Everyone wins!

Now everyone go do my new poll. This is very important.

This was the first request I came across again. I totally owe this to you. ILU BB.

For Iridescent Rain, this is JuuSaku with the following prompt: "A kiss is a lovely trick designed by nature to stop speech when words become superfluous."

* * *

**Words**

Sakura and Juugo

* * *

Konohagakure was thrilled to be able to study the beast within its own borders, all Lightning security measures aside. Normally such a hand of friendship would not have been extended; alliances may have been beneficial to keep countries out of costly conflicts, but it was never prudent to share _everything_ with another country. One did have to keep some hidden trump card in the event that a bribe might come in handy.

But the times, the _times._

The current state of the world couldn't even be called war, more like a tension; no one knew for sure exactly who to hate, exactly what to fear. In times like those, one held to the most trustworthy ally like a last meal, and the reluctant exchange of information and research opportunities simply happened because it must.

All Lightning would tell the Leaf delegates was that Killer Bee had managed to capture a member of Team Hawk who was not, unfortunately, Sasuke. They were not entirely sure it was human, but they knew it held some information on the origin of cursed seals from papers recovered from the Sound Village.

* * *

The beast within its package arrived shortly later, accompanied by weary Lightning ANBU instructed to observe all procedures done on the pitiful thing. Their own scientists had done their share and the Village Hidden in the Clouds eagerly awaited a second opinion, having sacrificed their national privacy for a better understanding of Sasuke's follower.

All Konohagakure would tell Sakura, woken from her bed in the dead of night, was that she must report to an unmarked, underground bunker immediately. And that she should give up on her hair, because it was and had always been ugly.

After giving Sai a graphic description of what he should do to himself with his sword, Sakura followed her friend and his company to the beast's cage, in order to assess her quarry on her own terms. Secondhand, incomplete reports had never satisfied her nerves.

Upon witnessing it herself, she circled it slowly, observing the thick chakra-infused ropes fastening the beast to its chair. The Lightning ANBU were bound to remain in the room and Sai could not be banished for his curiosity and Sakura's indifference to his presence; both parties watched her revolutions deferentially, aware of her lofty status as a top medic, pinning the title to her forehead like a brightly-lit sign.

Known only to herself, Sakura circled the creature to buy time and to stave off the inevitable examination. She nearly blushed upon receiving her invitation here, no matter its socially-challenged source, feeling her value to the village and embracing that feeling with all her strength.

She would not be the main medic working on the beast, but she would oversee the others. As a poison specialist her forte was of limited value in a full examination, but her extensive knowledge of the medical field in general and the respect she commanded from her peers made her more than worthy to take charge.

She raised her arms to the intake of air from all the room's occupants—Sakura bit back a laugh, pleased with her power; when had she not enjoyed evoking these responses from others?—and requested a circulatory specialist post-haste.

* * *

On the first day, the beast spoke no words to her, to Sakura's great relief. She had had enough scares regarding Sasuke and didn't care to collect any more; in spite of what Lightning had concluded on the apparently limited mental capacities of the thing, she felt sure that it nonetheless possessed some capacity to wound her.

And so she worked through the night, avoiding its eyes that followed her like a cat's unblinking gaze.

* * *

Sakura began the second day after a short nap. She was used to little sleep and this did not bother her, thought she would rather have slept in her own bed and not the ancient cot hastily erected just outside the observation room.

When she returned to the beast, there it was in the same chair with the same ropes, and she wondered if it had passed the night in that way, if no one had let him down to sleep. No doubt they mistrusted it, and rightly so, for it was rumored to give in to ferocious displays of violence, killing everything in its sight. The trick was to find the source, hidden in the blood, in the bodily tissues, somewhere encoded in some mutated gene.

Today, through compounded injections of sedatives, the beast spoke in her language.

"Are you going to take it away?"

"Take what away?" Sakura continued observing him levelly and gestured to the stenographer to make sure he was diligently recording the exchange.

"The thing inside me."

How strange, Sakura thought, that it separates from the transformation.

"I don't know. We will probably try if we find the source, but it depends whether this is genetic or not. You see, if you were born this way we can't change it. If this was brought on by some sickness or curse, there may be away to extract the power from you or at the very least annul it."

"I want the transformations to end. There's not a day that goes by where I don't fear for the world."

"Do you know if you were born this way?"

"I know very little of my childhood. I was less in control then, and the transformations happened quite frequently."

"I see."

"You have a beautiful voice."

Sakura's eyes narrowed, and the medic's hands, busy invading its body with her chakra, stilled. But the beast said no more, and ducked its head, the eyes roving across Sakura's face in marked contrast to their unnatural stillness yesterday. Sakura wondered what he saw, while in the corner the ANBU marveled at this change in the beast, which had been wordless even in the worst of tortures in their own village.

"I want to tell you where I come from," Juugo said.

* * *

"And the squirrels just never came back again?"

"No. I suppose that fire was the final straw."

Conversations with him are like speaking to a child, but this never bothers Sakura. Every day now when she goes in to see him she performs her preliminary rituals as usual but has invited a final one into the mix.

It is when his eyes meet hers and they spark with recognition, deep underneath the brain-numbing chemicals that still seem too weak to fully subdue him that she separates this man from this room and from her occupation that she can begin. Her experience exhausted—there is no poison-like substance within this man, the real culprit seems to be more assimilated into his body, as previously thought—she wanders the room aimlessly, dependent on her title alone to remain in this room with him.

The ANBU now give one another faceless glances when she engages Juugo in conversation, but they don't understand what Sakura now sees. Her empathy runs away with her yet again and she has stripped this man of his secondhand descriptions to reveal the soul underneath.

The medics bite their lips and peek up at her from underneath lidded eyes. They know better than to challenge her. Perhaps they think this is some new interrogation technique. After all, they are even less informed than she. Once again, ignorance becomes a weapon.

Sakura hopes against hope for more time, intoxicated by the separate transformation this man has made before her eyes. Mere words have taken away his labels and replaced them with a heart.

"Were you sad after that?"

"Yes, after I returned to my senses I couldn't bear to go into what was left of the forest. Whatever takes control of me loves the flames, loves watching things curl up and turn to ashes."

Her fascination with him at once disturbs and captivates her attention.

"I have reports to make but don't know what to say about you," she says, standing before him, leaning in to peer unashamedly into his eyes. The man within may have made an appearance, but for all his humanity he is still a thing on display.

"Sometimes words just ruin things," he replies, and for a moment the two regard one another with perfect understanding. He leans forward and rests his face on her cheek, his head almost comically dwarfing her own. She feels his lips deathly still on the lower edge of her cheekbone and imagines a kiss from this man in another time, another place, where the beast has never existed and spreads its virulent fires only in dreams.

"Your time is up," an ANBU drones.

And so the world returns.

* * *

One day he is gone as quietly as he arrived.

When Sakura reports to the bunker a man in formal military attire explains that the beast has been removed, for security reasons, back to Lightning. The Raikage appreciates her cooperation in the research endeavor and looks forward to putting her observations through their medical and tactical squads.

There will be a bonus in her next paycheck. Good day.

She leaves with no escort and returns to the hospital as she would on any other day. No one questions her absence, but inside a voice implores them to, begs them to shake her out of her routine and change her face, challenge her expectations of this place. The beast had given her all these things, and in the span of a few days he had become her antidote to this omnipresent numbness threatening to stamp out the last of her naivety.

Now that it has left her there is nothing left to do but sink into the same routines, put on her hospital apron like a shroud, her gloves like suffocating tombs of fabric.

Wondering where the beast has gone, fantasizing of new bunkers, of anonymous figures captivated by his innocent remarks, she walks with even strides down a long corridor lined with windows inviting in the morning sun.

She clutches her clipboard to her heart as she progresses, and wonders if it will remember her, if it will recall its time with a drowning girl in a dying world, after she has long forgotten its face, after she has forgotten everything it meant to her.

* * *

**A/N:** Okay, so I'm apparently physically unable to write fluff of any kind. WHAT DOES IT MEAN. This is unedited, so I'mma be lazy and let you all tell me if something's weird. Go forth, my minions.


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